


Hanging On

by j_s_cavalcante



Series: Halfway Up [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, Hypothermia, M/M, Tent Sex, post CotW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least Ray hadn't pissed himself during any of his close calls with the falling and the crevasse and the hypothermia thing that Fraser was worried about Ray almost dying from, before, in the hammock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hanging On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sprat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprat/gifts).



> This is a sequel to [Halfway Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/57704). Both stories are set during the events of the episode Call of the Wild.

 

Getting down the mountain, Ray could tell, was going to be a hell of a lot easier than going up, hanging on by his fingertips and his sheer stubbornness all the way. Fraser was busy turning the supply crate and a couple pairs of skis into a sled, and although Ray tried to help, his hands were clumsy with the big heavy gloves and the cold, which kept making parts of him go numb.

Still, his back wasn’t hurting so much any more, now that the big weight was off it, and at least he hadn’t pissed himself during any of his close calls with the falling and the crevasse and the hypothermia thing that Fraser was worried about Ray almost dying from, before, in the hammock.

There was also the fact that Ray’d start laughing at nothing in particular now and then, and that half the time he was starting to dream while still on his feet. He’d dream about his swingset that he had when he was a kid, and he’d dream about the day when he and his dad finished the GTO and took her out for the first time, and he’d dream about his wedding day with Stella. And sometimes he’d even dream about being in Lake Michigan or Lake Superior with Fraser—he’d nearly drowned in both, so it didn’t matter which.

The queerest daydream happened, though, when he watched Fraser working on the crate. It was all normal for a second, nothing weird happening—outside of how Ray was on top of a mountain in Canada watching a Mountie turn a box and some skis into a Fred Flintstone snowmobile—and then without any warning there was another Mountie there, older than Fraser and sort of transparent, and Fraser was talking to him, and he’d answer back.

Except he couldn’t be there, because there _was_ no one else there.

So Ray still had that hypo-thing, he realized, and maybe he wasn’t quite out of the woods yet with the whole not-dying thing. Fraser’d said...hell, Ray didn’t remember. Something about how Ray mustn’t go to sleep, but that thought made him sleepy, so he sat down in the snow, and then gradually tilted over until he was lying down. Mmm, soft. He was even starting to feel warm. Yeah. Like in his bed. He was in his bed at home in Chicago and that whole up-the-mountain, down-the-mountain thing was a dream.

He’d barely closed his eyes, though, when Fraser started shaking him by the shoulders, way too hard. “Wake up, Ray!” Just like this morning in the hammock, when Fraser said he had a hard time waking Ray and that Ray did not look good.

This morning, Fraser’d pummeled Ray like they were in the boxing ring or something, warming Ray up as much as he could by chafing Ray’s arms and legs through his clothes. He’d strapped the supplies to Ray’s back after taking every heavy thing out that they could possibly leave behind, and then strapped Ray to _his_ back to finish the climb. Ray didn’t know how Fraser managed any of it, but he did, and Ray stayed alive because of that, because he’d be damned if he let Fraser down after the guy did that for him.

Fraser would have gone faster without Ray and he’d never have fallen down that ice crevasse if Ray hadn’t been freaking out and running like an idiot, and Ray knew it was just sheer luck that that strange Delmar guy had found them and hauled them out.

Ray hadn’t really been worried, down in that crevasse. He’d somehow thought he was going to survive it, but he didn’t know if that was just more delusional thinking caused by the hypo-thingy, or if it was because of his trust in Fraser; Fraser had never let Ray down, and at this point in their partnership, Ray couldn’t really even imagine him doing it.

So now Fraser was shaking him hard, and the odd transparent Mountie dude was standing there clucking and shaking his head and saying _he’s slowing you down, son._

“Yeah, Fraser,” Ray heard someone saying. Oh, that was Ray. “I’m just slowing you down, so how ‘bout you let me sleep and you go down by yourself and get Frobisher and then you guys can come back and get me later.” Then he could sleep. That sounded like a really good idea.

“No! No, Ray. I can’t do that. When I returned you’d be...oh, dear, you may be anyway, if I don’t do something about it first.”

“Whatever,” Ray murmured, snuggling his face into his cold, wet pillow.

“Ray! Ray!”

God, Fraser was being annoying.

“What, Frase, what? Can’t it wait?”

“No, it really can’t.” Fraser was bustling around, moving stuff, doing something to the snow under Ray, shoving Ray around, and Ray still managed to doze pretty good for a while. Eventually he woke up—well, Fraser slapping his cheek damn hard had something to do with that (which, you know, ouch!)—and he saw that he was inside a little green tent that looked like it used to be their hammocks. There was something under him, too, that wasn’t snow, and there was no more cold and wet because the tent was keeping the wind out and Frase had a fire going right near the opening of the tent, and Fraser was—_ow, fuck!_—Fraser was pushing Ray into a nest of blankets and pulling Ray’s clothes off at the same time.

“Fraser—what the fuck?”

“Ray, try to relax, please. I know this is—well, I know this is very unusual, but in order to save your life I have to—”

Ray didn’t hear the rest of the explanation, because he was too busy feeling something he was pretty sure he hadn’t felt in a long time and had maybe even forgotten how it felt: warmth! Fraser was sliding into the blankets with him, and Fraser was so warm, he was hot, icy-hot, and, wow, it was Fraser’s bare skin on his bare skin he was feeling.

Strange. They’d been in some strange situations together, but never like this, even though maybe Ray’d thought about the possibility a few times.

Maybe a few times more than a few.

But he hadn’t told Fraser. He was damn sure he hadn’t told Fraser, even when he was babbling and babbling, strapped to Fraser’s back and hearing a mostly invisible Mountie talking about red ships and green ships and stuff. Some kind of ships.

So this had to be another dream, then, like when he dreamed before that he was on his childhood swingset, when he was really in a hammock on the side of a mountain. Ray sniffled like maybe a tear was finding its way to the corner of his eye. Silly to get all worked up over a dream. Especially a _good_ dream.

Better to just enjoy it while he was having it, and then when he woke up they’d still be on the goddamn mountain and Ray would have to deal with the cold again. But for now he was warm...wait, Fraser’d said something about that being _...very bad. It’s better to feel the cold, Ray. Once you start feeling warm and you go to sleep, you might not wake up._

Oh, right. So this was bad. It would be bad to die on Fraser now, when they’d come this far, when they’d made a partnership, a real duet, so good that they could jump on the outside of a plane together and fly right into the frozen north, and jump out of the plane without parachutes and survive, and climb a mountain and fall in an ice crevasse and survive. It was like Superman or something, like his childhood dream, although his brain couldn’t quite connect jumping out of a plane with no parachute and surviving. But that was the way he remembered it. He was pretty sure that no-parachute thing couldn’t happen in the real world; gravity was not optional, even though Fraser seemed to think it was. So maybe Ray’s memory’d gotten a little fucked up from all the cold. He’d have to ask Fraser later.

But the point was, they’d already come through some seriously deadly situations together just today, not to mention the whole week. So it was just silly to think of dying now when all Ray needed to do was _stay awake,_ right?

“Wake up, Ray, wake up,” he muttered to himself. “Got to stay awake for Fraser.”

Ow!—Fraser was slapping his cheek again, but this time Ray made an effort to wake up. “Okay, okay, Fraser, I got the message, I’m awake, I’m awake.” Ray squinted his eyes open. Huh. There was the little flickering fire warming up the tent, and, wow, here was Fraser, his face so close to Ray’s, peering at him anxiously.

“I’m awake,” Ray mumbled. Only he wasn’t so sure. “Am I awake, Fraser?”

“You’re awake.” Fraser’s big warm hand touched Ray’s face, stroking over the cheek he’d slapped. “I’m sorry I had to cause you pain, Ray. But I couldn’t let you drift off....”

Ray tried to make his face smile, though he wasn’t sure how much success he had. “S’okay, Frase. I get it. No sleeping for Ray. Gotta stay here for my partner.”

“Yes. I can’t let you—you can’t die here, Ray. I wouldn’t be able to go on. My father could stand over me and shout at me to get after Muldoon, and I don’t think I could.”

His father, huh? Maybe Fraser was starting to get the hypo-thing, too. Which, no way, Ray wasn’t going to allow that. He caught Fraser’s hand, stopped its movement on his face, but didn’t pull it away. The warmth on his cheek felt so good. He pushed his fingers between Fraser’s, clasping his hand nice and firm, so that Fraser understood. “You could go on, Fraser. You’d do the right thing. You always do the right thing.”

“Not always, Ray.” It was just a whisper, but Ray heard. He heard pain in it. He hated the sound of pain in Fraser’s voice more than just about anything.

“Yes, you do. If it’s humanly possible, you sure as hell do, and don’t argue with me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Fraser said in his snippy voice, and _that_ voice Ray was glad to hear at the moment. Because even though that voice irritated the hell out of him on an ordinary day, right now it meant two really important things: Ray wasn’t dying just yet, and Fraser hadn’t given up. Because Fraser never would’ve got snippy with him if he was sure he was about to lose him, and he wouldn’t have had the energy for any argument at all if he’d given up on capturing Muldoon.

Ray just had to make sure Fraser understood something. “Look, if it turns out I ain’t tough enough for this place, you gotta promise me you’ll go on anyway. It wouldn’t be your fault.”

Fraser snorted. Ray read that one loud and clear: _Oh, yes, it would, and I would blame myself for the rest of my miserable Earthly existence._

Ray couldn’t allow that, either. He yawned and said, “All right, then. Since you feel that way, here’s the deal. We both gotta live, Fraser.”

“That would be my preference.”

“Yeah. So we do whatever we have to. You got any ideas?”

“Well, this idea,” Fraser said, motioning with his head at the blankets around them. “It should help, at least as a temporary measure, should give us time to get down the mountain and find Buck Frobisher and his men. I’m feeling much warmer, and you’re already looking better.” He ran both hands over Ray’s face, smoothing his hair back off his forehead, again and again. “How do you feel, Ray?”

“Good, I feel...I’m feeling...” He was feeling something, all right. Ray looked at the blankets cocooned around them. He looked at Fraser. He looked down. Yeah, they were naked, both of them, and Fraser’s arms were sort of around Ray.

“Whoa,” he said. “This is the idea, huh?”

“Ray—” Fraser lifted his hand away from Ray for a moment and rubbed at his left eyebrow. “Ah, I’m sorry about the...er...I’m sorry if it seems untoward, Ray, but standard procedure in the case of hypothermia is to...to...remove the victim’s clothing and...”

Ray smiled at him. Laughed a little, even. “No worries, Fraser. Standard procedure is always kind of ‘untoward’ with you. I got to hand it to you—this beats buddy-breathing under the water by a mile.”

“It does, at that.” Fraser cracked a little smile.

“Does it feel good to you?”

Fraser _blushed._

Ray took that as an answer. “Okay,” he said, “it’s okay. It feels good to me, too.”

A freaking understatement if Ray had ever made one. They were _touching_ just about everywhere, and everywhere Fraser’s skin was touching Ray’s, it felt fantastic.

“That’s a good sign, Ray,” Fraser said in an almost-normal voice. “It means you’re well on your way to recovery.”

“You think so? Good, that’s good, Fraser. How about you, you warming up?”

“Oh, yes, very much so,” Fraser said, swallowing hard. He settled his hands around Ray’s back, smoothing them over his skin in big long strokes. Petting Ray, like he’d done to his face. Making sure all of him was warm.

Ray felt kind of like he was melting from the inside out. So this was it, he thought; maybe they were finally going to do something about their..._thing._ The thing they clearly had for each other. The thing that made Fraser do untoward stuff to Ray, with Ray, like kissing him underwater and holding his hand in alleys and hugging him naked here in a makeshift tent.

First, Ray had to get Fraser to admit it, though. That was the problem. Ray’d given Fraser every chance, those other times, and Fraser had always backed off, made up some perfectly innocent-sounding reason why he’d done the “untoward” thing of the moment, and he hadn’t followed up.

And Ray’d understood, he thought he’d understood: they were both cops, Ray was being Vecchio, they had to work together—for all of those reasons, it just wasn’t the time.

But here in Canada, with Ray back to using his real name and everything, they could finally admit what was between them.

This time the evidence was pretty overwhelming. Pressed close against Ray—_naked,_ both of them naked, that was key—Fraser was kind of giving himself away, finally. There was no explaining this away as some innocent thing.

He needed to hear Fraser admit it. “What’re you doing, Frase? What are we doing here?”

“Well, I’m saving your life, Ray.”

Ray couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face. “That you are, Frase. That you definitely are.” He searched Fraser’s eyes. Fraser was looking at him like...well, like he always did; Ray _knew_ that look, and the fact that it _hadn’t_ changed told him a lot.

It told Ray that he was right; he hadn’t hallucinated this about Fraser. What was between them, obvious as a mountain, wasn’t new. It had kind of always been there, and this moment of finally, finally admitting it had been coming for a long time. He leaned forward and kissed Fraser on the lips, real gently.

Fraser leaned towards him, too, and...and he put his cheek against Ray’s and pressed it there, firmly enough that Ray couldn’t reach Fraser’s mouth with his lips again.

Ray hugged him close. Fine, they didn’t have to kiss. Ray could do it Fraser’s way.

“Uh...can I...?” He slid his hand down Fraser’s side, over his belly, down toward his hip, because Fraser was here with him, naked in a cocoon of blankets with him, and how could Ray not want to _touch..._at least touch him just a little, touch him in some way they both couldn’t back off of later, give him a taste of how much more they could have after they got down the mountain to safety.

Ray let his hand hover just over Fraser’s hip, not quite making contact. Waiting for permission.

“Ray, I...I don’t think that’s such a...er...it’s not really...” Fraser trailed off, not meeting his eyes.

That was pretty much No. So Fraser wasn’t ready for this, after all. Ray moved his hand away, trying to swallow the lump that was all of a sudden in his throat. Dammit, he couldn’t believe it, but it looked like he had to be the one to give Fraser an out this time. That really stung, but what other option did Ray have? None, really. They had to be in the blankets together, naked, if they were both going to get warm enough to survive the trip down the mountain and a search for Frobisher’s camp, which could take a while.

They had to stay in the blankets together, and Fraser had said No.

It was all kinds of screwed up.

But—and it was about time he realized this—so was Fraser.

Fraser was on the trail of the killer of his _mother,_ for God’s sake. Fraser had been seriously worried at least three times today that Ray was going to die on him and leave him alone.

Ray had to be patient. This was not all about Ray.

Ray drew a shuddering breath. Okay, he could do this. For Fraser, he could do this.

“Sorry, Frase. I...lost my head there for a minute. Must be the hypothermia, huh?” Giving Fraser a graceful way out. _Just say it was the hypothermia, Fraser,_ he thought at him, loud as he could. _Just say I was off my nut from the cold, and it’s okay, and you understand, and we go on from there._

But Fraser said, painfully, “Ray I’m sor—”

“Don’t,” Ray said. “Don’t apologize. Just, we are gonna talk, later. If...if we both make it.”

“We’re both going to survive,” Fraser said, sounding certain.

He didn’t actually agree to talk, Ray noticed.

Ray wondered if his heart was going to survive, at this rate, but not really. He’d had all kinds of patience with Stella’s love-me/love-me-not crap for eighteen years.

He’d waited two years for Fraser to come around to this point. He could wait a little more.

So after they got warmed up and had a little rest, they dressed, packed up the sled again, and whooshed down the mountain. On the jerry-rigged sled it was more like falling with style, but it did the trick, and Fraser’s nose for directions was still superhuman: they didn’t have to search, they crashed right into Buck Frobisher’s Mountie camp, coming to a neat stop before they would’ve zoomed through the campfire. Ray’d had enough of being cold, but being _in_ the campfire would’ve been worse.

Fraser said the sled would just have put it out, but Ray was glad they didn’t have to test his theory.

It was a lot warmer in Frobisher’s camp than it had been up on the mountain, that was for sure. Ray didn’t even have to wear his hat, but he did keep his gloves on.

Best of all, Frobisher had food—hot, cooked food!—and supplies. Ray and Fraser had finished pretty much everything edible in the supply crate that morning, and they wouldn’t have made it much farther if they hadn’t run into Frobisher. It was almost like there was an unseen hand guiding them in the right direction, and that was a seriously weird thought for Ray to have. It reminded him of the transparent-Mountie hallucination, and he really didn’t want to think about that right now.

Fraser and Frobisher had a quick conference about strategy for the Muldoon takedown. Ray listened, but he really had nothing much to add, except that he didn’t like the odds much, but it wasn’t like they could do anything to tip the balance now. They were kind of already committed.

Ray heard Frobisher say they would bivouac here for the night, where they could stay undetected and still have plenty of time to make the rendezvous. How was that for a two-dollar word? _Bivouac._ Meaning they and the little army of Mounties would bed down in tents and sleep, and set out after Muldoon in the morning.

So Frobisher had a couple of his Mounties double up, freeing up a tent for Fraser and Ray, and Ray wondered whether they were gonna cocoon the blankets again. He figured it’d probably be clothes-on this time, but it’d still be warm and good to be tucked in with Fraser.

Before they turned in, though, they logged some relaxing time in front of the campfire; Ray’d been so cold earlier that he was reluctant to get up and move away from the cheery blaze.

A whole bunch of sled dogs and one half-wolf were howling at the moon, and Ray watched them and took a nip from the flask Buck Frobisher had handed him. It had turned out to contain good whiskey, which tasted heavenly, like the food, like maybe the landscape sharpened every sense and cast everything, even taste, into stark relief.

“Boy who had an experience like you did in the last twenty-four hours deserves a little snort,” Frobisher said heartily, and hit him so hard on the back that Ray almost fell off the rock he was sitting on. Frobisher walked off to see to the dogs, saying, “Keep it, son. I don’t need it.”

Fraser’d said you had to be smart about alcohol out here; it could easily make you colder instead of warmer, but he’d also said Ray really did look a lot better, so a little bit, at this point, would probably do no harm. They were warm and dry and they’d eaten, so he figured Ray was really out of danger, his core temperature, whatever that was, fully restored.

Fraser sat down with Ray in front of the fire, and Ray worked up the guts to ask him about their next step in Chicago, and whether their cop-partnership was over. He pretty much did that blithering thing about Vecchio being back, but Fraser’s answer didn’t sound much more coherent. Ray was just about to ask Fraser to level with him when Thatcher called him over, and Fraser shot up off the rock like he’d been launched.

Ray watched Fraser and Thatcher talking, watched her lean toward Fraser like she wanted to kiss him, and saw Fraser almost lean toward her. Then Dief and the dogs started howling again, and Ray saw Fraser snap to attention and offer Thatcher a handshake instead.

Jeez. No wonder Fraser never got any. Which, you know, Ray was glad Fraser wasn’t getting any with _Thatcher,_ but Fraser pretty much acted the same way around any woman. Or man, for that matter.

Any man except Ray.

And even with Ray he didn’t seem ready for anything more than they already had: Fraser maneuvering Ray into these _untoward_ positions with him every so often, and then pretending afterward that nothing _untoward_ had happened.

Ray wondered whether Fraser was going to try to pretend that this morning hadn’t happened, that there’d been no naked cocooning, no kiss, no more touching than “standard procedure” warranted, no _nothing._

Maybe their cop-partnership being over would be a good thing after all. Maybe Fraser wasn’t _ever_ going to be ready for anything more with Ray.

He shook his head and allowed himself one more tiny sip. The liquor burned its way down his throat, but it couldn’t heat the sudden cold Ray seemed to feel, deep in his gut.

Fraser had turned and was coming back to him. Ray put the cap back on the flask and waited.

Fraser sat down heavily next to Ray. The firelight flickered on his face, and Ray could see little lines around his eyes and mouth that he’d never noticed. He forgot, sometimes, that Fraser was the same age as him, that he’d seen a lot of life, just like Ray.

Come on, by the time a guy got to their age, he knew what he wanted, right?

Ray swallowed hard. He had to figure out how to open the subject they _had_ to talk about. He’d probably have only one chance to say it before Fraser went all Mountie-like and retreated in denial, so he had to choose his words carefully. He tried to line them up straight in his head.

Fraser picked up a stick and poked the fire a couple of times, sending up a little flight of sparks. Then he laid the stick back down in the snow and stood up, slapping his thighs, all false heartiness and fake cheer. “I’m ready to turn in, Ray, if you are.”

Which they had to do together, Ray realized, because of how small the tent was. It wasn’t like he could stay here moping in front of the fire while Fraser went to sleep, and then get in later. They had to figure out how to fit into the thing together.

Not a bad meta-whatsis, metaphor, for their whole damn partnership.

He got up and followed Fraser.

Nothing different about that, either.

It turned out the tent was at least big enough to sit up in, if you didn’t mind that your head touched the ceiling. Once inside, Fraser propped a flashlight near the flap, shining into the tent, which made weird shadows down one end, but provided plenty of light to see by. He made the blanket cocoon, then got out of his coat.

Ray wriggled out of his jacket, which was hard to do in the small space, but at least he didn’t elbow Fraser. He was just about to ask Fraser how they were gonna do this when Fraser pulled his shirts off over his head, all of them, down to bare skin, leaving them inside out and draping them out flat over his coat, which he pushed way down into the angle of the tent next to him.

“Uh, Fraser, are you...”

“Everything off,” Fraser said, in that fake-hearty Mountie voice. “We’ve got to let the perspiration dry out of our clothes overnight, or we’ll be soaked in the morning. Wet clothes can be fatal in the Arctic wilderness, Ray."

Okay. Fraser was the Arctic-wilderness expert. So Ray copied Fraser’s actions on his side, even down to how he stowed his boots at the far end and laid his socks inside-out over them. He shivered a little, but he wasn’t really cold yet, though he’d freeze eventually if he stayed out of the blankets for too long.

It was time to get into the blankets with Fraser. There was no way out but _in_. There never had been, at any time in their partnership.

And there was no way to sleep in the blankets without touching each other.

So Ray found a way into the cocoon, and then Fraser did, and they squirmed around trying to get comfortable without knocking out any teeth or blacking any eyes.

The wool of the blankets was a little scratchy on Ray’s skin, but the silk-soft feel of Fraser’s skin made up for it big time.

“You think those other Mounties, the ones who’re doubling up, you think they’re doing this?” Ray couldn’t picture it.

“Possibly,” Fraser said. “Although they probably brought a change of dry clothes with them, so perhaps...” he trailed off. “I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, Ray. I don’t mean to be untoward.”

“Oh, where’ve I heard that before?” Ray couldn’t keep a little sarcastic edge out of his voice. “Did it ever occur to you I might _want_ you to be a little _untoward_ now and then?”

“Well, no.”

“Never?”

“No...well, perhaps once or...Ray, do we have to get into this?”

“Can you give me a good reason why not?”

Fraser made a sound like something hurt him. “Ray, you’re going back to Chicago.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I—I don’t know, I don’t...I don’t think so.”

Oh. Ray’s throat tightened up, but he had to press on. They had to have this out, one way or the other. “So you’re not gonna miss me, huh?”

“I didn’t say that. Of course I will. Our partnership, our duet, as you call it, has been the most important...” He cleared his throat. “Re-relationship. It’s been the best one of my life. I’ve never...truly been close to anyone like this before.”

“You’re not telling me you’re a virgin,” Ray said, snorting a little in disbelief.

“N-no. I didn’t mean physically, I meant...well, my friendship with Ray Vecchio was and is extraordinary, and I’m extremely grateful for it, in more ways than I could ever explain, but...” Fraser sighed. “But it’s a very good thing I never had to rescue him from hypothermia in this manner. I’m not sure he’d ever have forgiven me.”

“Bullshit. He’d have complained about it loud and long, but he’d have done it.” Ray hadn’t worked with the guy for more than a day and a half, but he was damn good at sizing people up. Vecchio might have talked a good game about how this or that was too much for him, but underneath he was smart and tough. And you had to be flexible to be any good at undercover. Vecchio’d have taken it in stride.

“Well, he wouldn’t have kissed me.”

Ray’s turn to sigh. “Okay, probably not.” He thought for a second. “Uh, do I need to apologize for that?”

“No, of course not.”

“Fraser, you’re sending me mixed signals here. Like you have been doing the entire time of our duet. You and me, we can work out a complicated dragnet operation with two hand signals and some eye contact, but when it comes to this _thing_ we got between us, we can’t seem to get on the same page.

“Look, if it’s the gay angle, if you just can’t deal with being with a man, I guess I can understand that—”

Fraser’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder, warm and solid. “No, Ray. I admit I’ve only been romantically involved with a female before, but...I’m not particular. Not about gender.”

“Okay. Okay, I didn’t think so. So, what, is it me? I’m not attractive enough for you?”

“Good Lord, Ray, you’re attractive enough for anyone.”

Which was so not true, but it was neat that Fraser thought so. “Or, uh, I know I was pretty stuck on Stella; you’re probably not wanting that kind of thing sticking to you, huh?”

“Ray. No. You’ve no idea how much I envied her.” Fraser’s whisper had a harsh edge to it.

Huh...that was new information. Wow. “So what is it?”

Fraser was silent a long time. Finally he said, real quietly, “I can’t see a future for us, Ray.”

What, because there was going to be a national border between them? Fuck that. “They can’t keep us apart, Fraser, not if we’re determined.”

Fraser closed his eyes. Ray did not like the look of that, not at all. He grabbed Fraser by the shoulders, knocking Fraser’s hand off him without meaning to, and shook him. “What is it? Tell me!”

Fraser’s answer came out in a very small, tight voice, like it was having to squeeze past a traffic jam in his throat. “Ray, I...I haven’t thought much past capturing Muldoon. We still may not survive.”

“Oh, I know that, but you know what? After getting out of that crevasse—which that had to be one of the most improbable saves in a whole career of improbable saves—I’m thinking we just might.”

“Well, I’m thinking we just might not, in the end, as you quite rightly pointed out, not with forty armed men opposing us. The odds are bad, and although I’m certainly determined to stop Muldoon and Bolt, it may require...”

“What?”

“Giving my life,” Fraser said. “I’m prepared to do that.”

Ray’s hands tightened on Fraser’s shoulders, so tight he was probably leaving marks. “What do you mean? You mean, more than the usual do-or-die any cop is already sworn to? You’re not _planning_ to step in front of a bullet, are you, Fraser?”

“I don’t know what I might do, at the last moment. I haven’t thought past it, Ray. The future is one big blank. I can’t help wondering if it’s a premonition. Perhaps it means my time has run out. Perhaps I have one last man to catch, and then...that will be all.”

Ray was shaking his head. “No way. No _fucking_ way did I hang on to my life up there on that goddamned mountain to hear you say that, Fraser, to hear you give up. You don’t ever give up, that’s who you are.”

“Well, I’m not giving up,” Fraser protested. “I’m just acknowledging there may be forces out there greater than my own will.”

“You. Will. Not. You will not give up, Fraser. You hear me?”

“There might be forces greater than your will, too, Ray.”

“Oh, I know that. But I’m not you. You have a will stronger than _gravity,_ Fraser; we both saw plenty of evidence, with the plane and the...” He gestured. “Everything you jump over and into and out of.”

“Everyone has his limits, Ray.”

“Yeah, well, this ain’t yours.”

“How can you know that?”

“I know that because I love you, dammit!”

Fraser looked shellshocked.

Scratch that: Fraser looked _terrified_.

And that was it. There was something in this world that Benton Fraser was afraid of, after all, and it had been right here in front of Ray’s face all the time. It was something Ray was very good at doing and very bad at stopping. It was something he’d felt for Fraser from the very first day they met, when he offered Fraser a true partnership, a _duet_, and Fraser accepted.

Love.

“Fraser,” he said, his voice cracking. “Don’t you get it? Love is jumping in Lake Michigan, or out of a plane. Love is one of those things you do anyway even though it scares the hell out of you.”

Fraser shook his head. “Not me, Ray. I did once and I almost ruined many lives.”

“Sometimes you crash and burn. It wouldn’t be so scary if there wasn’t that risk. What you gotta know is that it’s worth it anyway. And you won’t know it till after you make that leap.”

“I’ve never had any sense of proportion about risk, Ray. I can’t trust myself.”

“Then trust me,” Ray urged him. “Trust your partner. C’mon, you know this. You _know_ me, Fraser. We’ve been through this trust issue and you _got_ it. You know I’m right about this. Ask your gut, ask your instincts. You’ve got ’em, too, I know you do.”

“Ray, I...”

“Ask your gut, Fraser. What is it telling you? What do you most want to do, right this minute?”

Fraser gasped, taking a big breath of air into those extra-capacity lungs. “Oh, God, I...”

_C’mon, c’mon,_ Ray thought, but he didn’t speak. He waited. Because he trusted Fraser, too: Fraser was the smartest, best, most _real_ person he’d ever met—which that was saying something, considering he was talking about a guy who did six impossible things before breakfast, most days.

If there was a leap to make, yawning in front of Fraser, deadly dangerous and impossible, you could be sure as the sun coming up over the mountains: Fraser was gonna leap.

Fraser was gonna make it.

“I want desperately to kiss you, Ray.”

Ray’s grin had to have been as bright as sun over the mountains. It felt like it was splitting his face.

“Do it.” He waited, letting Fraser take the lead: Fraser’d decided, Fraser had to be the one to make the move.

Fraser did. He wrapped his arms around Ray and pulled him in close, then relaxed just enough to put his lips on Ray’s.

Hot. Fraser was fever-hot in Ray’s arms, and his mouth was liquid heat. Ray sank into it, let Fraser sink into him, their tongues touching, sliding together, their lips and teeth awkward together, getting in the way, maybe a little bruising here and there, but Ray didn’t care. He did _not_ care. He wanted this, bumps and bruises included. He wanted Fraser’s iron-strong arms around him, holding him tight. He wanted Fraser’s passion.

He wanted Fraser.

He wanted Fraser’s fingers in his hair, pulling a little, pressing, trying to touch all of him at once.

Wanted Fraser’s legs tangling with his, and—oh, God—the silken heat of Fraser’s cock, brushing his hip. He slid his hands down over Fraser’s gorgeous, snow-soft skin, down to his belly, which had just a dusting of downy hair. Down, down...

He stopped. He had to make sure. “Fraser, can I—”

And this time, Fraser said “Yes.”

_This_ time, Fraser said, “Touch me.”

Ray whispered, “Kill the light.”

Fraser reached over to click the flashlight off, stretching in Ray’s embrace so that his torso was spread before Ray like an untouched field of just-fallen snow. For a moment after the light went out, Ray couldn’t see him, only feel him, but then Ray’s eyes adjusted to the softer white light from the moon, real bright overhead and filtering in through the tent fabric.

Fraser relaxed his arm at his side, but otherwise stayed stretched out for him, pushing the blankets back out of the way with his free hand, and Ray took advantage, spreading his hands over that enticing expanse of skin, trying to touch all of him—strong swells of muscle and slightly prominent nipples, firming under Ray’s fingertips—till Fraser moved his hips helplessly against Ray, wordlessly begging.

Ray answered by sliding his hands down together to Fraser’s belly and down further to his cock, taking it gently in both hands. Soft skin; hard, pulsing heat—it was beautiful, this evidence that Fraser wanted Ray.

He circled the hard shaft with the fingers of one hand, pushing down gently, then pulling up, giving Fraser long strokes that made him gasp and shudder beneath Ray. He cupped Fraser’s balls in his other hand, loving how the soft weight of them filled his hand.

He slid down Fraser’s body to press his cheek against the silky hot skin of Fraser’s cock, rubbing his face there, all over Fraser’s cock and his balls—God, so soft—and Ray was glad his beard was grown out just enough to be gentle on Fraser’s delicate skin, not scratchy.

“God, Fraser,” he murmured against Fraser’s belly.

“Ray!” Fraser’s voice came out a whisper, but it could have been a shout: need, desire, maybe a little desperation.

Ray rocked up on his hands and knees and lowered his head over Fraser’s cock, taking it in his mouth. Fluid welled onto his tongue, soft, slightly bitter; he lapped it up and smoothed his tongue over and around the head, pushing the last, soft little ridge of foreskin back gently. Fraser’s little gasps and movements showed Ray exactly how gentle to be, and how firm.

There was so much he wanted to show Fraser, so much he wanted to give him. Ray’d been loving him all along, and Fraser had to know that, he had to know that was what the following him off buildings and planes and over mountains meant. But _this_ part, the part where Ray got to strip off his job and his tough-guy act and his cynicism, quick as pulling off his clothes, and just be Ray—this part he’d never been able to share with Fraser before.

And now he could.

He pushed his mouth down on Fraser and sucked him, and, oh, God, what that did to him. His own cock was rock hard and leaking against Fraser’s knee, which Fraser had pushed gently up between Ray’s legs. He whimpered a little and rubbed his cock against Fraser, and Fraser moved his knee against Ray like he was trying to help, the fine hair on Fraser’s legs giving Ray just enough friction to drive him half out of his mind.

Knees being the shape they were, Fraser couldn’t keep his in contact with Ray as they moved, and Ray was still sucking Fraser with all the strength in him. So Ray untangled their legs, releasing Fraser’s cock just long enough to maneuver without hurting him, and lay down across Fraser’s body so he could suck him without distraction.

Fraser slid a hand down under Ray to cup his cock, and—there, that was good, that was really, really good, Fraser’s cock in his mouth and Fraser’s hand on his cock, clasping tightly and letting him thrust into his strong palm again and again. Ray thought he just might like to stay that way forever, but it wasn’t long before Fraser was moaning under him and thrusting up hard into Ray’s mouth.

Ray held Fraser’s hips down with his hands so nobody would get hurt, and he made his lips tight around Fraser and let him fuck his mouth as deeply as he could take. He could take him pretty deep. Ray had climbed a fucking _mountain_ today, and lived to tell about it; he sure as hell wasn’t going to freak out over a little sex, even if it was sex with the hottest guy on the planet.

Fraser’s thrusts grew ragged and uncoordinated all of a sudden. Ray hung on, held him through it, till Fraser shook and let all his breath out in one long “Ray...” and came in Ray’s mouth, while Ray tried to swallow and swallow and catch it all, licking him clean, licking his softening shaft and his balls, and the sensitive place just over the tendon in the groin of each leg.

Then Fraser’s hand firmed around him, and Ray rolled halfway over on his hip so Fraser could sort of see what he was doing in the soft, filtered moonlight. His cock looked huge and dark in Fraser’s hand—an amazing sight: his cock in Fraser’s hand, so hard, God! He couldn’t keep from thrusting a little. He was so close, leaking all over the place, and Fraser’s other hand swept down his back and cupped his ass like Fraser’d maybe been wanting to do that.

It felt incredible, but Ray was desperate to kiss Fraser. He pushed himself up out of Fraser’s grip, slid his body up over Fraser’s to reach his mouth, and kissed him like he’d been starved for it, for Fraser, and he had, he really had. Fraser kissed him back like he’d been pretty starved for Ray, too. He wrapped his arms around Ray and held him close, and they shifted around till Ray found the perfect place to thrust in the groove of Fraser’s hip.

“Want you,” he breathed into Fraser’s ear. “Wanted you so much, Frase, always...”

“I know, I know,” Fraser murmured. “I, too, Ray,” and he slid his fingers up into Ray’s hair, slow and gentle like Ray was something precious. That did it for Ray: every muscle in his body tightened, and he drove one more thrust down against Fraser’s hip, pressed his face against Fraser’s neck as pleasure flooded him, and came hard, all over Fraser’s hip and belly.

For long moments he couldn’t do anything but breathe. Fraser had already caught his breath, Ray heard it soft in his ear. Eventually they settled on their sides in each other’s arms, adjusting to each other, finding a comfortable fit.

Ray held Fraser to him, pressing a kiss into Fraser’s shoulder, and began to drowse in the delicious warmth, tangled up in Fraser’s body the way he’d always been tangled up in every other part of him, heart and soul and mind, ever since Fraser talked him into driving a burning car into the lake. Fraser was letting Ray love him all the way now, without the stupid restrictions from before, from the cop job and all that went with it.

It was probably never that in the first place, Ray realized. They could’ve done this before. They could’ve kept it out of the papers and the station’s grapevine. They both knew how to play it cool, and everybody already expected weird behavior from the two of them. It was totally do-able.

It still would be, if Fraser wanted to come back to Chicago after all. Or if Ray quit the police department and followed Fraser to Canada somehow. It was all do-able. Hell, if they could survive everything they’d survived just today, just this week, figuring out how to live together would be a piece of cake.

Ray was damn well going to figure that out, because he was _not_ giving this up. He was gonna hang on to Fraser like he’d hung on to that mountain. He was not giving up this beautiful moment or any of the ones to come.

Ray and Fraser were pretty relaxed the next day, even considering that Fraser was still fiercely determined to catch Muldoon. They listened to Buck Frobisher deliver a garbled pep talk to the group, and then they set out for Muldoon’s and Bolt’s rendezvous point, and in all that time, Ray couldn’t really bring himself to worry that they weren’t going to make it. He knew they’d be fine.

And they were. They lived through Muldoon’s and Bolt’s capture. They saved Canada and the world and each other.

They didn’t do it on their own, of course. There was Frobisher, and his men, and Thatcher and Turnbull, and Diefenbaker, of course. There were Mounties parachuting out of the sky like angels sent to defend paradise. Ray’d never thought of a snowbound wilderness as paradise, but he was learning to see differently, and that was its own kind of miracle.

Ray thought there were maybe some transparent Mounties in the mine shaft, too, because Fraser came out of it with tears streaked down his face, looking like he’d seen a ghost, but he hadn’t told Ray about it yet. Ray wasn’t worried; he knew he’d hear it when Fraser was ready.

In the end, although the news articles read like something out of a comic book, Ray wasn’t really surprised.

Because although Fraser was the one guy who was stronger than gravity, it turned out there was something stronger than Fraser.

Fraser wasn’t afraid of it any more.

And Ray was still pretty good at hanging on to it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For Sprat, in appreciation of her moderating and maintaining the Due South Seekrit Santa gift exchange, 2006.
> 
> Beta read by AuKestrel, to whom I am most grateful.


End file.
